WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(31)

He did not fear the Trials. But waiting was not something he did well.

The dancing the night before had been sparsely attended, but that had not been unexpected. Most of the others had barely picked their sites, much less erected their tents. Simus and his people had danced and chanted until they were tired enough to sleep. Tonight he hoped for more warriors to attend.

Destal had set watches, and Simus couldn’t fault her there. It was not the traditional way, but he’d rather break tradition than not keep his warriors safe.

And then again, tradition didn’t plan for change, did it? Warrior-priests all dead, yet their powers increased?

So much could go wrong. Othur and he had planned for a supply caravan to arrive in Xy during the Trials. He’d hoped they’d arrive soon, but only the winds knew when or if they would come safely. Then there was Antas and his plots, and that was concern enough for any warrior.

Voices rose from outside the tent, and Galid stepped within. Simus gave him a nod.

“I wish to challenge for Token-bearer, Warlord,” Galid said, his white teeth flashing against skin the color of dried grass long under the sun. “And would ask your permission.”

“Given,” Simus said, and Galid wasted no time stepping back outside. He could hear Destal’s voice as they moved off toward the fighting ring, and soon he heard the clash of swords.

“Fretting, I see.” Joden emerged from one of the side chambers, kavage in hand. They had agreed that he wouldn’t take part in the opening of the challenge circle. Even Simus saw that it would violate any sense of neutrality on Joden’s part.

“Warlords do not fret,” Simus pointed out, straightening and lifting his chin. “We brood.”

“Ah,” Joden went to the main entrance and lifted the flap to look out. He shook his head. “I see Destal is in fine form this morning. Her challenger is already offering his dagger in surrender.” He dropped the flap and took a seat next to Simus. “And just what are you brooding about?”

“The other Warlord candidates,” Simus sighed. “Who supports, who might oppose. If I can persuade them to aid us. What tactics or even treachery they might use against us.”

“And?” Joden asked.

“Whether Eloix has reached Keir,” Simus admitted. “Whether she encountered the supplies caravan. Whether the supplies will arrive intact, timely—”

“There’s no way to know,” Joden interrupted. “Unless the warrior-priests have ways of divining such answers that we know nothing of.”

“Then there is that, too.” Simus frowned. “The whole issue of warrior-priests, with almost all dead, and those that remain wielding powers beyond imagining who appear to have a change of heart and then disappear with no word.” If he also thought on that woman, Snowfall, he’d not mention it to Joden.

Joden shrugged. “As to Eloix, it’s unlikely she’s reached Keir. I doubt she’s even at the border.”

“She’s fast,” Simus argued. “She might be—” He stopped his own words. “Perhaps I do fret,” he admitted.

“Chess.” Joden settled on the seat beside him. “I’ll take city-dwellers.”

“I rise to your challenge.” Simus settled back. “Let us prepare for battle.”




Every morning Eloix rose with the dawn, saddled a fresh horse, and moved off at a run. She’d done long rides like this in the past, and fell into the familiar trance of the pounding of the horse’s hooves and the movement of its muscles under her. Day and night passed swiftly; it was times like these that Eloix felt as one with the elements, for all that existed was the horse, the land, her heartbeat, and the distant mountains of Xy on the horizon.

She was lucky enough to encounter herds where she could release the horses she’d ridden, and summon fresh ones to her side. She’d always check those that had run with her, but they were hale and hearty, and while ready to return to grazing with a herd, unharmed for their travels.

She saw a few groups of warriors in the distance, headed for the Heart. But they didn’t attempt to greet her, and she rode on and past without incident. But one nooning, as the sun rode high in the sky, she saw a lone rider headed toward the Heart, and something in the warrior’s posture gave her pause. She blinked against the sun, shaded her eyes and stared, uncertain if she recognized the rider. But if it were true...

She warbled one greeting, and then another from her days in the thea camp, and held her breath.

The rider swerved toward her, coming on at a gallop, returning the warble with a high, joyous call of her own.

“Heyla,” Eloix called and laughed when she saw it was indeed Elois who’d answered her greeting. Their horses slowed to a trot, and they drew close enough to hug from horseback, pounding each other’s backs.

“Eloix.” Elois was flushed and weary but clearly glad to see her tentmate. “Do you come from Simus? Do you bear truths for Keir?”

“I do.” Eloix grinned as their horses danced around each other. “I’m charged with messages from Simus for Liam and Keir, and the Warprize. You came on that errand?” she asked hopefully. “Return with me to Xy, and I will share my news.”

Elois shook her head, her face falling. “No, there is a truth I must carry to Simus. Othur, the Warder of Xy, is dead. Slain on the night of the fire-needle, at the hand of Lord Durst.”